


The Healer

by brighteye



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, Heavy Angst, Prompt Fic, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, mercykill - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brighteye/pseuds/brighteye
Summary: “Authors do not choose a story to write, the story chooses us.”― Richard P. Denney, authorVarious scenes and short stories, generally inspired by prompts, focused on Angela Ziegler.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes & Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 18
Kudos: 12





	1. Martyr

**Author's Note:**

> **General Fic Notes**  
>  This will be a series of unrelated scenes and stories; no chapter is linked to another unless explicitly stated - though all are, generally, set in the same universe / fanon. Almost all [if not all] scenes will be based upon a prompt, which will be provided at the beginning of each chapter with any specific tags that may be necessary.
> 
> I'm trying out this prompt thing. I know, I know, I should be working on Forged - I've got the scenes planned out, but I just can't seem to get the words to come out. So, instead, I gift you these words for you to enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Febuwhump Day 13: "Hidden Injury" | (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel | TW: Injury**  
>    
> 

_I'm strong on the surface,  
Not all the way through.  
I've never been perfect,  
But neither have you.  
\- Leave Out All the Rest [Linkin Park]_

* * *

“Mercy, come in.” Angela blinked, glancing around. What—? She found herself draped uncomfortably over broken concrete and wood; it appeared she had landed on what remained of a wall or building - but why would she be in any such place?  
  
Right. She was in Germany, with a strike team. There had been an explosion that had taken them all unaware.  
  
Just like that, she was moving. There would be injured to tend to - both on her strike team and for any innocents caught in the crossfire of this terrorist attack. She felt the Valkyrie suit humming, warm against her skin; distantly, Angela knew that meant she was injured - but, since she couldn’t see any blood, Angela dismissed it as unimportant.  
  
“Mercy! Do you copy?” The voice called again, this time more worried. She was unsurprised at the worry; she was the medic _and_ the Medical Director, after all.  
  
“I copy,” she replied, one hand lifting to her ear while the other gripped her staff firmly. Angela moved her hand, flipping a small switch on the halo that would engage her HUD. It sparked to life, allowing her to see through the hazy dust that floated around her. Without hesitation, she moved towards the first individual she could see.  
  
She found the man, blood pouring from a gash in his side, and pointed her staff. After a moment, Angela realized that the staff wasn’t operating properly - it must have been broken in the explosion. She set the staff aside with a disgusted sigh before kneeling in the ruins to manually care for him. 

\---

Though she had been home for nearly an hour, had been out of the rubble for longer, she still wore the Valkyrie suit breastplate. Angela’s wings and halo, more of a hindrance than anything within the carrier's tight quarters, had long since been stripped away. After that, there had been no time – and no reason – to remove the breastplate.  
  
After clearing the site of all injured, her team had rushed to their carrier - one of their own was severely injured, far worse than what Angela could repair manually in the field. She’d kept him alive on the carrier and had followed him all the way into the operating room to finish the job.  
  
About three-quarters of the way through the surgery, her Valkyrie suit had powered down; the wave of agony had caused her hands to momentarily pause, but before anyone could notice or comment, she had shoved it away. There would be time for that _later_ , once her agent wasn’t bleeding out.  
  
Now, her agent was resting in a private room; she had left the operating room with murmured excuses of changing and making her reports. Then, Angela went to her office, not allowing a single sign of her pain to show on her face or in her stride. It was only once she was hidden away inside, door locked behind her, that Angela allowed herself to let down her protective walls.  
  
It was stupid; she knew that. All she had to do was say something to one of her staff and they would have helped her - but she _loathed_ appearing weak, even after all these years. She _knew_ there was no reason for it, _knew_ no one would think poorly of her, and yet she had hidden herself away anyway.  
  
Angela stripped off the breastplate with shaking hands before setting it aside on her couch, not bothering to walk the additional ten feet to its normal stand. Her boots were kicked off, landing haphazardly on the surrounding floor. Then, she was contorting herself as she reached for the zipper on the catsuit; it hurt, making her gasp and bringing tears to her eyes, but she managed it. Panting, she stripped it off wearily before looking herself over.  
  
There were no lacerations or gashes, which she already knew. Instead, she found herself mottled with purple-black bruises; from what Angela could tell, it was worse on her back - but she had no mirror, so it was hard to compare the bruising on her front to what was on her back.  
  
Later, once the infirmary was - mostly - empty and no one else was around, she would sneak - as if she _weren’t_ the Director _or_ the one who had developed it, personally - a healing stream away to take care of herself. It would only be a few hours; she could manage a few bruises that long.  
  
Angela had just finished pulling a set of scrubs - she always had an extra set in her office, just in case - when the doorknob rattled.  
  
“Angela?” Her heart tripped; she hadn’t expected to see him today. He was supposed to be in Rome like he usually was. Angela briefly considered pretending she wasn’t in her office, that she was somewhere else in the building - but she already didn’t get to see him as often as she’d like. As she made her way back across the office, she shored up her walls to hide her pain.  
  
“Gabriel,” Angela greeted warmly as she opened the door.  
  
“I heard about the explosion,” he said, brushing against her as he made his way inside the office. “Are you alright?” Angela shut the door, hiding them away from prying eyes, before turning to look up at him.  
  
“Of course I am,” Angela assured him; a few bruises weren’t life-threatening, after all. She knew that he would disagree with her assessment - but he was rather biased when it came to her health. Angela was certain he would consider a paper cut to be too much injury for her; the mottled black spread across her back would _definitely_ worry him, even if there was no reason for his concern.  
  
Gabriel closed the distance between them then, wrapping her in a warm embrace that normally was comforting but currently was agonizing. Angela forced herself to relax into him anyway, forced her arms not to tremble as they lifted to wrap around his waist - but he must have noticed something was amiss, because he pulled back to look down at her.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Angela shook her head, frowning slightly when the motion made her dizzy.  
  
“I am just sore, that’s all.” It wasn’t a lie; her body ached fiercely, but it was nothing to be concerned about - though the dizziness wasn’t the greatest of signs.  
  
“Angela,” he rumbled, clearly not believing her, “you’re hurt, aren’t you?” She worried her lip and glanced down with a resigned nod. “Let me see.” Angela hesitated; even with him - _especially_ with him - she wanted to appear strong, capable. He already worried enough about her as it was.  
  
Sighing, Angela reached for the hem of her top. Her body rebelled, aching and angry, as she moved to pull it up for him to see the bruising. Gabriel clearly noticed the pain she was in, because before she’d even managed to get it halfway up, his hands were there and taking over for her. Then she was standing there, stripped to the waist aside from her bra, arms crossed and face downcast as he looked her over.  
  
“Angela,” he sighed, disappointment and worry coloring his voice; despite the pain, her shoulders hunched and she ducked her head. Angela hated that she had let him down _again_. He moved, stepping around her to look at her back; his sharp intake of breath confirmed that it was worse there than on her front.  
  
“This isn’t - Angela, this _isn’t_ okay.” He wasn’t shouting at her, but the words echoed in her ears as if he had. She jumped, wincing, as he lightly touched her back; the touch disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and then he was standing in front of her again. Angela didn’t need to look up to know that Gabriel was frowning down at her, worry in his eyes as he tried to figure out what to do with her, _again_.  
  
“I was going to take care of it in a few hours,” she murmured to the floor. “I didn’t want to worry you.” She hadn’t expected him to be here to worry about her. Angela could have easily hidden this from him over their communicators, and no one else would have gotten close enough to notice her discomfort.  
  
“I know,” Gabriel sighed. And he did know - she had practically bared her soul to him, after all. He knew her flaws and had seen all of her ugly, weak parts and _still_ found her worthy of his attention. Even if she _did_ make him worry like he was now.  
  
“Come on; let’s get you dressed, and we’ll take care of it.” She didn’t particularly want to do that - but Angela knew that he would just carry her to the infirmary if she refused. Instead, she allowed him to help her back into her shirt and followed him out of the office.  
  
In the hall, she forced herself to walk normally again - no one, except perhaps Gabriel, would notice there was anything amiss. Halfway to the infirmary, she paused, one hand grabbing at his bicep as she steadied herself.  
  
“Angela?” Gabriel’s voice echoed strangely in her ears again, and she closed herself as her vision swam. Angela took a deep breath and opened her eyes, releasing his arm.  
  
“Sorry. I am alright.” It was obvious to her that he was completely unconvinced, but he didn’t press the issue; instead, he kept pace next to her as they went to the infirmary. Once inside, he called Gloria - the only doctor whose name he knew beside Angela’s - as he bullied Angela onto one of the triage beds.  
  
“She’s hurt,” Gabriel explained to the redheaded doctor. “I’d appreciate it if you’d look her over.” Gloria nodded before shooing him away and pulling the curtains closed. Once Angela was stripped again, Gloria _tsk_ ’d.  
  
“You should have said something, doctor.” Gloria chided. “I will be right back with the healing stream, and then you will be as good as new.” 

\---

It was almost thirty minutes later when she walked out of the infirmary, feeling a million times better. That it had taken so long meant that the damage had been worse than some bruising - which Gabriel had been quick to point out as they entered the elevator that would take them up to her rooms.  
  
“It was foolish, I know.” Angela agreed, though they both knew it wouldn’t change how she would act in the future. Her pain was secondary compared to everything else - to include her pride. If she wasn’t so worried about appearances, about being _strong_ , she wouldn’t have left her wounds untended.  
  
“Reckless, you mean.” Gabriel corrected as they stepped out of the elevator. It wasn’t long before they were in her rooms and his arms were around her, holding her tightly as he pressed his face into her hair.  
  
“I wish you would take better care of yourself, _cariño_.” He murmured. “You’re not invincible, even if that suit of yours makes you feel that way.” Angela pressed herself against him, apologizing wordlessly because she couldn’t say the words aloud; apologizing for something she would continue to do in the future felt too much like a lie.  
  
“I will try to do better,” Angela said instead, which really meant nothing at all and they both knew it – but it was the best she could offer. She would continue to throw herself into harm's way, to ignore her wounds, because that was who she was and what she did. Angela was nothing if not reckless when it came to the safety and protection of their agents.  
  
He sighed, a big heaving motion that told her he was unhappy but resigned to the fact that there was nothing to be done about it; they had gone through this song and dance far too many times, after all. Instead, he pulled back to look down at her; in his eyes, she could see his worry and love - but no disappointment, for which she was grateful. The worry she could handle, but his disappointment was always crushing.  
  
Then, his hand was cupping her chin, tilting her head back as he captured her lips with his own - and then there was no need for words at all. 

* * *


	2. Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Febuwhump Day 14: "I didn’t mean it." | (Pre-Fall) | Angela & Gabriel**

_I was broken you made me whole again  
The only one I trusted more than myself  
-What I Believe [Skillet]_

* * *

“Did you know that my parents died in the war?” She asked, the sudden change of topic making him blink with surprise.  
  
“Angela, what--” He started, but she spoke over him.  
  
“They died, leaving me an orphan with my grandparents. Already an outsider – the girl without parents – I buried myself in my academics because I had a burning need to prove myself worthy. So, I flew through school – all the way through university and medical school.” Angela didn’t know where the words were coming from, only that she needed to say them and he needed to hear them.  
  
“Then, my grandparents died - and I was _truly_ an orphan then, with no one at all to turn to.” She sighed as her eyes dropped to her lap. “I didn’t have any friends, because who wanted to be friends with a child that was smarter than them? It was incredibly lonely, with teachers that had no time and peers that avoided me, so I drowned myself in my studies and ignored the looks and the whispers.” Angela shrugged as if to say it happens sometimes, that it didn’t matter - though clearly it did, considering she was recounting it to him now.  
  
“It was no different at the hospital; I excelled, moved up the ranks, and my peers hated me even as they respected me. I had no friends – not someone I’d gossip with or laugh with, though I admit I throw myself into my work so deeply that I have little time for such things, as you know.” She smiled derisively, as if it didn’t bother her – though if it hadn’t, she wouldn’t be talking about it, forcing the words out for him to hear.  
  
“Then you and Jack showed up, and I decided to join Overwatch – even with my misgivings. I expected it to be much the same, _especially_ with my less-than-stellar opinions.” She took a breath, having almost forgotten how to breathe in her need to speak. “But it wasn’t. I have friends here – honest friends, not the ones that wait for you to stumble so they can pull the rug out from under you.” Angela glanced up and saw that Gabriel was listening intently, still curious as to what – exactly – her point was.  
  
“You, Gabriel, you were my first friend – and I doubt you even knew it, because you’re good with people in a way that I’m not. You and Jack and Ana, you were my first friends, ever since I was a small girl that still had parents.” She took a shuddering breath and gripped her legs with fingers that trembled.  
  
“So believe me, Gabriel, when I say that I _can’t_ lose you – any of you. I have lost too much.” Angela let out a breath that sounded like a sob. “But you go, all three of you - and you take risks, and you save people, and you get shot - and I am left behind to wait, hands wringing, praying that _this_ time won’t be the last time, that you will return home whole or on a gurney for me to put back together and not in a body bag for me to _bury_.” Her words were heated with anger and terror and anxiety: because they made her stay behind, because they didn’t trust her to survive on a battlefield, to watch their backs like they watched each other. She let the anger fuel her because anything else would lead to tears, and she just _couldn’t_.  
  
Jack had led the team that flushed out the enemy, making sure the way was clear so she could move unhindered. Ana had watched out for her, making sure that they knew there was an enemy behind them so that she wouldn’t be hurt. Gabriel had stayed at her side the entire time, and, when it came down to it, he jumped in front of a shooter for her.  
  
“So instead of letting me learn how to be useful, you three protect me like a delicate china doll. You shoved me aside to take a bullet. You gave me a _concussion_ , but I still dutifully stopped your bleeding and even pulled a _bullet_ out of you, because you’re _important_ and I didn’t have time to take care of myself without endangering you.” She practically growled the words.  
  
“Wait- you had a _concussion_ and you performed _surgery_ on me?” Gabriel’s voice was indignant, and she rolled her eyes; he had, of course, missed the point entirely.  
  
“You’re fine. All your pieces are in the right spots.” She snapped back.  
  
“A _concussion_?” He repeated.  
  
“Yes. Blow to the head, causes dizziness, nausea? Stop me if any of this sounds familiar.” Angela retorted dryly.  
  
“I _know_ what a concussion is, Angela. Why were you doing _anything_ with a concussion?” He demanded.  
  
“There you go again, coddling me! You had _four bullets_ in you, and you still did your job – you,” she hesitated only briefly, “killed the man that would have killed me. I get slammed into a wall – your fault, by the way – and you act like it’s the end of the world!” She yelled, fury rising.  
  
“ _My_ fault? _Excuse me_ for saving your _life_!” He yelled back, his own temper fraying. “But that doesn’t give you any right—” Angela started yelling right back.  
  
“I’m the doctor; I have _every_ right.” Her words battled with his to be loudest.  
  
“—to perform surgery on _anyone_ with a _concussion_.” His eyes were blazing just as much as hers were. “You’re the doctor; you should _know_ better.”  
  
“Are you dead? Dying? Missing pieces?” Angela demanded. “No, because I _did_ my job. You. Are. _Fine_.”  
  
The door opened, and both turned to glare at the intruders. Jack stood in the doorway, Ana a step behind him, both looking rather surprised to find the two of them at each other’s throats.  
  
“My, someone’s in a mood today,” Ana remarked blithely, recovering first. “You must be feeling better, Gabe.” She pushed Jack inside and closed the door behind her. “Now, what’s got you both so riled up?” Angela crossed her arms and glared at Gabriel.  
  
“He doesn’t think I’m capable of being a professional.” She accused.  
  
“She had a _concussion_ and was operating on me; I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to be pissed about that!” He met her glare with one of his own. Ana clicked her tongue and shook her head.  
  
“Simmer down, children.” They both turned their glare on the older woman, who just laughed. “You’re both right, though you’re too angry to see it. Angela, darling, you shouldn’t have been doing anything in your state – but in her defense, she was _very_ protective of you, Gabriel.” She winked jovially, and Angela found herself blushing despite herself. “Despite her injury, she still performed admirably, and had she been anyone else, you’d probably be praising them.” Ana glanced at Jack, and he nodded in agreement.  
  
“Now, apologize so we can talk,” Ana said, hands on her hips as she waited for them to _get on with it_ already.  
  
“I’m sorry I yelled at you, Gabriel.” Angela murmured, eyes downcast and genuinely contrite; now that the wind was out of her sails, she felt extremely remorseful.  
  
“Yeah, I know, doc. I shouldn’t have yelled either.” Gabriel sighed. “I didn’t mean it.”  
  
“Good. Now that that’s done, Angela should have a report for us.” The blonde doctor made a face as the other two found seats, but she sat up straighter and pushed her hair behind her ears dutifully.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like, 99.99% of this has been written for over a year (or three). This was originally going to be a scene in my long fic “Forging” (it would have been part of / the end of the second scene of the 8th chapter “Determination”). But, it got scrapped and put into my giant pile of ‘stuff I eventually want to post somewhere’ and now, well, here we are!


	3. Self-Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Febuwhump Day 18: Alternate Prompt "Hostage" | Pre-Fall | Angela / Gabriel | TW: Mass Shooting**

_If I gave you the truth will it keep you alive?  
Though I'm closer to wrong, I'm no further from right.  
-Truth [Seether]_

* * *

“We can’t risk it, Dr. Ziegler,” Jack argued, leaning over the war table to look at her. Angela crossed her arms and met his gaze with a fierce one of her own. Someone near her shifted uncomfortably, but she didn’t look away to see who it was.

“Civilians are _dying_ , Commander,” Angela retorted. If they were in private, she would use his given name - and probably be far more heated than she already was. “They need medical attention, but no one can safely reach them.” 

It was a trap. She knew it as much as he did - but those civilians shouldn’t be punished for it. 

“ _I_ can reach them.” Angela finished, hands falling to her hips. Her Valkyrie suit had flight mechanisms that could take her over the fighting, making it easy for her to safely reach the injured. There, her medical experience could save lives. Jack scoffed.

“We can’t risk _you_ , either. You are far too valuable.” Angela knew he was right, but _she_ was right, too. 

“Send in your strike teams, Commander,” Angela urged him instead. “Once they’re distracted with fighting, I can fly in safely.” She knew it was still a risk, but she _couldn’t_ leave those civilians out to hang. Jack rubbed a hand over his face before looking down at the war table.

“It isn’t a bad idea, Commander,” Sojourn said into the silence. “We could send in teams here and here,” she pointed to points on the map, “to draw their fire. Mercy _could_ make it through if we make enough noise.” Everyone considered the map, carefully _not_ staring at Jack as he searched for a decision.

“We’ll send a third team, here,” he said finally, pointing to a place not too far from where they had estimated the most injured to be. “They’ll be close by, should Dr. Ziegler need assistance.” Angela smiled then; shortly afterward, they were dismissed to prepare.

\- - -

Less than two hours later, Angela was perched on a roof, waiting for the fighting to begin. It tried her patience, sitting and waiting for it to be safe to proceed while she _knew_ people were dying, but she forced herself to remain where she was. It would be far more dangerous to those civilians if she drew the attention of their attackers. 

Twenty minutes later, she was carefully swooping down, her HUD having led her to the survivors. As Angela’s eyes swept the scene, she was grateful that she had convinced Jack. These people weren’t equipped to handle this type of damage - most of the uninjured were sitting in shock; Angela didn’t blame them, but she also knew she had to rally them.

“I’m in position,” Angela reported quietly into the comm unit before striding into the mess of people to bark orders. Under her cool gaze and firm declarations, she managed to push people into action; some were to find supplies in the nearby ruins while others were directed to apply pressure to open wounds that Angela could see. 

Once she trusted that they wouldn’t fall back into their despair, Angela turned to the worst of the injured. Blood was everywhere on the woman, but Angela couldn’t find any debris in the wounds.

“You,” she pointed at a nearby man with one bloody hand, “come here, please.” The man approached unsteadily, clearly uncomfortable with the gore before him - but she didn’t have time for his, or anyone else's, squeamishness. “Take this,” Angela ordered, offering her staff. 

Normally, she would never part with her staff - but there wasn’t _anyone_ else here to help her, so she needed to adapt. Angela quickly instructed him on using the staff before directing him to use it on the woman.

“If the wounds aren’t healing after a few minutes, let me know,” Angela told him; that would mean something else was wrong with the woman, which would require Angela’s direct attention. Once she was sure he was using it right, she moved to a nearby man who was almost as bloody as the woman she’d just left.

Angela wasn’t sure how long she had worked - between her and the man with her staff, she had helped at least four or five people - when everyone around her went silent. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Fingers, red and sticky with blood, dropped to her blaster as she turned, wings flaring in a bid to protect and shelter those now behind her. It wasn’t hard for her to find the three armed men, weapons pointed threateningly at the surrounding civilians. 

“Now, doctor, don’t do anything stupid,” the one in the middle said, his words almost a taunt. “We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt or anything.” The man to the left chuckled as he nudged a woman with the tip of his gun, causing her to whimper. 

“No,” Angela agreed, “we would not want that.” Slowly, Angela released her blaster and raised her hand to show her surrender. Her aim wasn’t good enough to take on three of them, even if she _weren’t_ surrounded by noncombatants. 

“Is there anything I can do for you? Medical assistance, perhaps?” She offered, keeping her voice cool instead of desperate. Angela could hear the strike teams buzzing in her ear - none of them knew that she was in danger, and she had no way to tell them. 

“You know, Dr. Ziegler,” Angela stiffened at the use of her real name, “I think there _is_ something you can do for us,” the leader said, lifting his assault rifle to rest on one shoulder casually. “You can come with us.” Angela’s eyes flashed; she knew better than to go anywhere with an enemy.

“Or,” the man continued, “we can kill everyone here and _take_ you with us.” He shrugged as if the choice didn’t really matter to him. “It’s your decision, doctor.” The man smirked, knowing he had her. “I’ll give you a minute to think about it.” 

As if she needed a minute.

Angela _hated_ that their assessments had been correct - the second response _had_ been the target. Jack had known better and hadn’t wanted to risk her, but she had pushed. Angela had been right to come - these people would have died without her aid - but she was too valuable for Overwatch to lose. 

But what else could she do?

Angela knew that she couldn’t fight off these men, couldn’t escape them before they caught her. Even if she called for help right now, she doubted any of the teams could reach her before these men killed everyone. All her resistance would do was cause every noncombatant in this room to die. 

“I will go with you,” Angela said, spreading her hands before her in surrender. “There is no need for violence.” The man smiled then, a horrible thing full of teeth and malice.

“I appreciate your cooperation, doctor.” He looked her over quickly. “Get rid of the gun,” he ordered. Angela complied, slowly pulling out the blaster and crouching to set it on the ground. Before he could tell her where to send it, she kicked it backward - away from anyone who might use it.

“The comm unit,” he added, once she had straightened. Angela hesitated for only a moment before reaching up with careful fingers; once she had it detached from her and out of her ear, she dropped it to the ground. “Don’t!” He yelled sharply as she moved to crush it. Angela lowered her foot back down slowly; she had hoped to signal her distress by killing her feed altogether - apparently, this man was wise to the trick.

“You said you would cooperate, Dr. Ziegler,” the man chided, wagging one finger at her before turning to look at the man on his right. “Show Dr. Ziegler what happens when she doesn’t keep her word.” Before Angela could do anything \- _say_ anything - the man had whipped his gun up and killed one of the cowering men.

“ _No!_ ” Angela shrieked, stepping forward with one hand extended - but it was too late; the man was dead. “Stop, _stop_ , I’m cooperating!” Angela forced her horror and nausea back - God, his death was _her_ fault, if she hadn’t tried to be clever - and made herself appear calm, despite her outburst. 

She was _Dr. Angela Ziegler_ , and she would not show weakness before these monsters.

“I trust I’ve made my point,” the man said, and she nodded her head in a jerky movement. She had learned her lesson: to disobey was to risk the lives of those around her, those she was here to protect and save. “Good. Come here.”

Angela kept her eyes firmly on the leader as she closed the distance between them with careful steps. As soon as she was within reach, the man wrapped one hand around her bicep in a cruel grip. Angela bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.

“Finish it,” he ordered, turning to drag Angela along behind him.

“Wait, you said—” Angela’s eyes widened as gunfire and screams erupted behind her. It was then she struggled: she dug in her heels and tore at his hand. When that didn’t work, she loosened her knees and let herself drop into pure deadweight; that stalled him for a moment, but then he yanked her back to her feet.

“You said you’d let them live!” The words were a mixture of hysteria, grief, and terror. “I surrendered!” That had been the deal: her life, her cooperation, for their lives. The mans’ grip tightened on her - something she hadn’t thought possible, considering how hard he had originally grabbed her - as he pulled her along, away from the blood-soaked room.

“I lied, doctor.” The gunfire stopped, and then there was nothing but silence as Angela was dragged away. She forced back the tears that threatened to fall; she would _not_ cry before this man - this _monster_ \- who had ordered the deaths of innocent people for _no reason_. 

\- - -

“Strike Commander!” Jack’s hand raised automatically at the call, activating the microphone almost before he realized it.

“Strike Commander here. Report.” His voice was cool as he watched the cameras before him.

“It’s Mercy, sir,” the voice continued, hesitating. Jack went cold as he leaned down to brace himself against his desk.

“What’s happened to her?” That was the only reason the man would be hesitant in his report; no one liked to give bad news, after all.

“I - I think she was taken, sir.” At least she wasn’t dead - but that wasn’t much consolation. “We, uh, we went to find her once the fighting was done. Her comm unit led us to - well, maybe you should see for yourself, sir.” Jack swallowed hard before accessing the agents’ camera.

There was blood everywhere. Arcs of it had gone up the walls and dripped from the ceiling while more had pooled on the floor. Everywhere the agent turned was a dead person - men, women, and children; none were spared. 

Jack couldn’t see Angela among the dead - though he imagined the agent would have reported that immediately. 

“As you can see, sir, everyone is dead. We’ve recovered her effects,” the camera - the agent - turned so that Jack could see them. “Her staff, gun, and comm unit, sir.” They had been piled haphazardly on the ground in one of the few places that wasn’t dripping with blood.

“Make sure you bring them back with you,” Jack ordered with a heavy heart. “Comb the area to see if you can find her - or any sign of her captors.”

“Yes, Strike Commander.” Jack closed the feed and sat back in his chair. God, he did not want to make this next call - but it would be so much worse if he didn’t. Jack wished Ana were still here; she had been so much better at handling these kinds of situations. Resigned, Jack scooped up his communicator and dialed a familiar number.

“Yeah?” Despite the situation, Jack rolled his eyes; of course, he would be greeted with sass.

“Gabe,” Jack kept his voice sober instead of rising to the bait, “are you alone?” Jack knew that Gabriel wouldn’t want witnesses for this conversation.

“I don’t have time for whatever this is,” Gabriel said instead, blowing off Jack as he so often did these days.

“ _Gabe_.” Jack snapped. “Make time. It’s about Angela.” Gabriel muttered a slew of curses. Jack wasn’t sure, but it sounded like he was walking down a hallway. A door slammed, and then:

“Alright, I’m alone. What’s happened to Angela?” Gabriel demanded; while the two men were often at odds these days, they could always agree upon one thing: Angela’s safety.

“She’s been taken.” Jack released a pent-up breath; for better or for worse, he’d said it. “I don’t know who took her, but they left her staff.”

“You don’t—” Gabriel cut himself off with a frustrated sound. “ _Damn it_ , Jack!” There was a banging sound - Jack was pretty sure that was Gabriel slamming his fist into his desk. Silence fell between the two men. Jack didn’t have any words - he was responsible for Angela’s safety and had let her down; Gabriel, Jack knew, was far too angry and worried to speak.

“I’ll find her, and I’ll get her back.” Gabriel finally announced. Jack nodded as if the other man could see him. “I swear to God, Jack, if she’s hurt because of this—” Gabriel didn’t finish the threat, but Jack didn’t really need him to.

“Yeah,” Jack breathed, “I know.” The line went dead, and Jack set his communicator down on the desk again. He allowed himself a moment to sit, one hand covering his face, before forcing himself to his feet. There were things he - Overwatch - could do in the search for Angela.

He just hoped they could find her before it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be linked to at least one other prompt; I'll edit here once it's posted!


	4. An Angel's Ransom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Febuwhump Day 21: "Torture" | Pre-Fall | Angela / Gabriel | TW: Torture, Rape**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter directly follows the events in "Self-Sacrifice".

_You just refuse to bend  
_ _So I keep bending ‘til I break  
\- Right Here [Staind]_

* * *

They had blindfolded her and half–carried her along; she wasn’t sure, but she thought that they had taken her underground. A door opened, the sound echoing hollowly. Before she could consider her location too much, Angela was shoved unceremoniously to her knees; if it weren’t for the Valkyrie suit they hadn’t stripped from her, she knew it would have been painful.  
  
“What are you doing?” Angela demanded breathlessly, as if she were in _any_ kind of position to demand _anything_. She was ignored as they yanked roughly at her arms. Her wrists were handcuffed, the metal biting deep enough into her wrists that – even through the Valkyrie suit – she could feel it, above her head on either side of her. They were pulled back slightly, just enough to strain at her shoulders no matter how she shifted.  
  
Angela didn’t particularly _want_ to be cooperative in her capture, but she didn’t struggle – she didn’t think anything good could come of her resistance. Then again, nothing good had come from her capitulation, either.  
  
Brusquely, they moved to chain her ankles together, pressing them so tightly together that Angela doubted even a hair could fit between them. It left her kneeling uncomfortably on the ground, forced to hold her weight either in her thighs or to rest awkwardly on her ankles as she was pulled ever so slightly backwards.  
  
It was then that they removed the blindfold.  
  
Blinking, Angela took in her surroundings. The floor was hard–packed dirt that was nearly as unyielding as concrete. Tarp and plastic covered the walls; what _wasn’t_ covered looked to be the same material as the floor beneath her. The space was lit by two bare bulbs, hanging loose on their wires that drooped haphazardly from the ceiling.  
  
The man left the room, slamming the door – metal instead of wood, surprisingly – behind him. Before the echo could fade away, Angela was pulling against the chains that bound her. It was a fruitless venture that didn’t last very long – the chains were too strong to pull away from the wall or apart from itself, and they were too tight against her flesh to allow her to do anything more than flay her skin.  
  
Angela worried at her lip briefly, considering her situation – which was rather grim, all–in–all.  
  
She had no idea where she was. They hadn’t used an aircraft to take her away – probably because Overwatch would have noticed such a thing – so Angela knew she couldn’t be _too_ far away from where she had been captured. Still, that left a lot of places to hide. Based on the room she was in – and the stairs she was pretty sure they’d carried her down – it could be an unfinished construction site or even the beginnings of a basement addition to an existing building.  
  
She didn’t know who had captured her. She _did_ know they were vicious and ruthless – there had been no reason to kill those civilians, except for the fact that that room had seen the three men who had taken Angela. They also had left her staff behind; that was a marvel of medical engineering that many would kill to get their hands on.  
  
Briefly, Angela hoped that the staff made it back to Overwatch instead of enemy hands.  
  
She didn’t even know what they _wanted_ from her. No one had spoken to her after that man’s declaration: _‘I lied.’_ That Angela was chained away in this room told her that she wasn’t wanted for her medical expertise – if they had, wouldn’t they have just taken her to whatever room or ward their injured or sick were within?  
  
But, she did know _some_ things.  
  
There was no end to the knowledge they might want to pull from her, whether it was Overwatch or medical in nature. She was a valuable asset, even if she weren’t a soldier or military leader.  
  
She _knew_ her position as Chief of Medicine was a dangerous one – though, of course, not nearly as dangerous as the roles Jack or Gabriel held. That she went into the field as a combat medic only added to that fact. She was the innovative, ground–breaking medical researcher that had developed nanotechnology that had revolutionized the world.  
  
Based on limited conversations and stupid movies that Gabriel had picked for them to watch, Angela also knew that her chances for survival were low. They hadn’t hidden their faces from her, and they had killed all witnesses to her capture, after all.  
  
She shifted again, doing her best to find a comfortable position even as she knew it was impossible, and tried to stave off her terror and grief.

\- - -

Angela hated sitting idle, alone with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her.  
  
She had already exhausted her worry for what might happen to her here at the hands of these men. From the absolute best–case scenario – where the chains were all she faced – to the worst–case scenario – where she was brutalized and left to bleed out slowly: Angela had tormented herself through them all.  
  
Considering her medical expertise and history with traumatic injuries, it wasn’t hard to imagine all sorts of horrors happening to her here.  
  
Now she was stewing in guilt. Angela had caused the deaths of – _at least_ – twenty men, women, and children. While she may not have pulled the trigger herself, they had only died because Angela had come to them. They may not have survived – _probably_ would not have survived – without medical attention; where typically her presence guaranteed survival, this time it had guaranteed nothing but death.  
  
It was agony, despair eating at her from the inside. Angela was no stranger to death and the guilt that it brought – but _this_? The screams still echoed in her ears, hours later. Angela knew they would haunt her nightmares for years to come, just as surely as whatever she would face in this room would – assuming she ever _left_ it.  
  
Her cool, calm facade – the outward face of Dr. Ziegler that everyone saw, that caused people to whisper that she was ‘cold’ and ‘unfeeling’ – was normally summoned and held with barely a thought. Here in this room, where the fear of the unknown and her hopeless thoughts ran free, she found herself struggling to hold onto it.  
  
But her pride _demanded_ that she not give these men – these monsters – anything that they did not _drag_ out of her.

\- - -

She was exhausted.  
  
Angela, per her usual, had only slept a fitful six–or–so hours before waking up on this horrible day. It had been only a handful of hours later that she had left Zürich in her Valkyrie suit. Angela had no way of telling how long she had been held here in this room of dirt, but she knew it had been _hours_.  
  
The adrenaline had worn off long ago, leaving only nervous anxiety and nauseating terror. Fear was _exhausting_. The chains, forcing her to hold the uncomfortable positioning, were _exhausting_.  
  
Her whole body tensed when the door opened again, head jerking up to watch three men enter the room; none were familiar to her, though one, surprisingly, had his face covered. One busied himself against the wall directly across from her; she ignored him in favor of the two approaching her.  
  
“I trust you have found your accommodations acceptable, Dr. Ziegler.” The one directly before her remarked cheerfully as the third man – the one whose face she couldn’t see – peeled away to stand somewhere behind her. It was an act of will to not crane her neck to see where he went; instead, she fixed her eyes on the speaker.  
  
“Your bedside manner is lacking,” Angela responded acerbically. She knew she shouldn’t push – this _wasn’t_ her home, where it was safe to say such things – but fear made her tongue looser than it should be. “I would be more than happy to give you some lessons.”  
  
Surprisingly, the man threw his head back and laughed – and then struck her face, hard and fast. Angela’s teeth caught the inside of her cheek, and she could taste blood as her head turned with the force of the blow. The pain was sharp but brief as the Valkyrie suit wicked it away.  
  
The surprise – and the visceral fear – was, unfortunately, left behind.  
  
“You will watch how you speak to me, doctor,” he growled. As her tongue probed the inside of her mouth, assessing the damage, the man stepped back. “Now,” his voice was bright again, showing none of the malice from his previous words, “we have much to do.” His eyes moved past her form towards the man behind her. “Proceed.”  
  
Rough hands landed upon her suit, wrenching at her right–wing in a manner that was wholly ineffective at removing it from her back. Instead, they cracked it and ripped some of the ‘feathers’ away to scatter around her before leaving it to droop limply. It brushed against her leg, though she wasn’t exactly how bad the damage was.  
  
“Perfect,” the speaker announced eventually. The hands pulled away. “It’s all about appearances,” the speaker explained as if imparting some great life advice while the man behind her moved into her line of sight. “I’m sure you, of all people, understand that, Dr. Ziegler.” While Angela was definitely one for keeping up the appearance of professionalism, she had no idea what the man meant in this context.  
  
“Now, for the doctor herself.” Before Angela could realize what his words meant, the breath was knocked from her as she was punched in the stomach.  
  
The Valkyrie suit may be able to remove pain, but it couldn’t fix her retching and desperate gasps as she tried to regain her breath. Before she fully recovered, Angela took another blow to the chest and a third to the back.  
  
“Wait.” The speaker demanded after the fourth blow – a kick to her bound legs. Hard fingers gripped her chin and tipped her head back, the man staring down at her contemplatively. “How interesting,” he remarked after a moment. “I had heard you were emotionless – and that was clearly an exaggeration.”  
  
Angela had tried to wall away her terror and mounting horror, but, clearly, her aloof facade was breaking down.  
  
“But I _didn’t_ hear that you couldn’t feel pain.” The speaker must have signaled the masked man, because another blow landed heavily against her shoulder blades. “How disappointing,” he sighed. “I _hate_ settling, but we have a timetable to follow.” He released her, stepping back once more.  
  
“Rough her face up a bit; at least she can _look_ beaten even if she doesn’t feel it.” He ordered over one shoulder as he went to speak quietly to the third – mostly forgotten – man against the far wall.

* * *

It had taken Gabriel almost no time at all to reach the war room. He had only remained in Rome long enough to bark orders and delegate his duties, then he had made his way to Zürich. He had just landed when a grim–faced Jack had met him, urging Gabriel to follow the blonde. It was only the two of them, standing because neither could bear to handle this sitting down, when they watched the recording.  
  
It started with proof of life.  
  
A device showing four clocks bearing different time–zones was held before the screen in an attempt to prove that this video had been taken less than an hour ago. Gabriel knew there were ways to fake such things, but he held on to the hope that it was true regardless. Then, the device fell away to reveal Angela.  
  
She was still in her Valkyrie suit and Overwatch blues. One wing had been damaged and was dangling behind her; Gabriel doubted the damage was done during Angela’s capture, considering the ‘feathers’ scattered around her. No, that had been done deliberately to make her appear more fragile and broken – though Gabriel hoped, _prayed_ , that they would recover her before that truly occurred.  
  
Her head was bowed, hair hanging limply to block her face as her shoulders rose and fell in short, panicked breaths. He ground his teeth as he took in the chains that bound her. Gabriel recognized the stress position for what it was; he had too much experience with Blackwatch interrogation _not_ to. He couldn’t tell from the camera’s position how tight they were, but he doubted it was anything comfortable.  
  
Then, a man strode into the frame then. In one smooth motion that told Gabriel that this wasn’t the first time that man had done something like this, the man in the video grabbed Angela’s hair and yanked her head back.  
  
Gabriel shifted uncomfortably, hands bunching into fists, as he took in Angela’s face. Her eyes were bright and watering. Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was from terror, pain, or just an uncontrollable physical reaction – but it didn’t matter. Already, her face was swelling with the beginnings of bruises and there was blood on her lips. They had gagged her; with what, he wasn’t exactly sure, but it was held in place by a black cord. It was far too tight – he could see where it bit into her cheeks.  
  
After a long pause, the man released her hair. Angela allowed her head to drop forward, hiding her face from the camera once more. Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion or some attempt to protect them – him, Jack, anyone else that saw this video – from the sight of her battered face.  
  
The man began speaking, listing his demands. First, he wanted the release of five men and two women. Gabriel recognized the names as some of the captives within Blackwatch interrogation cells – and from the way Jack stiffened, Gabriel assumed some of those people were being held by Overwatch. Second, he wanted the Watchpoints in Tashkent, Uzbekistan and Karagandy, Kazakhstan to be dismantled. Finally, he wanted Strike Commander Morrison to be stripped of his position and removed from Overwatch entirely.  
  
Were the situation less horrific – if it weren't _Angela_ being held hostage – Gabriel might have made a quip about that last demand.  
  
Gabriel's eyes bounced between the speaker and Angela as he spoke. He noticed Angela tense before slumping in resignation at the demands they _all_ knew could never be fulfilled. Not even for the prodigal doctor, their Mercy, could even one of those terms be fulfilled.  
  
Once the demands were laid out, the man turned slightly to regard Angela with cold eyes before looking back to the camera.  
  
“You have one day to comply with these demands. If, by tomorrow at this time, you have not complied – well.” He looked at Angela again. “Your angel here will bear the weight of your failure.”  
  
The video cut out then.  
  
“Play it again,” Gabriel demanded; he had to figure out where she was – now that he had heard the message, perhaps there was something in the video that could help find her. After a second viewing, Gabriel sank down into one of the many chairs within the war room to think.  
  
“You know we can’t give them what they want.” Jack choked out. Gabriel tensed at the reminder; his people had nothing to go on and hadn’t had luck in finding her yet – there was no way to save her from whatever they had in mind for her tomorrow.  
  
“Send the footage to my analyst; maybe he can figure out where it came from,” Gabriel ordered, completely ignoring the blonde's words – as if that were enough to protect Angela. “McCree and Genji are out in the field now, searching. I’ll—”  
  
“We need you here, Gabe,” Jack interrupted. Gabriel knew, rationally, that he had a responsibility to Blackwatch – and Overwatch. He _knew_ that he couldn't just go off into the field – but it was _Angela_.  
  
“ _I_ need to be out there,” he snapped back, even though he knew it was wrong. He knew Angela wouldn’t want him to abandon his duty – his responsibilities – for her sake, but that didn’t matter either.  
  
“It could be a trap, Gabe.” Jack reasoned. “They could be using her as bait for either one of us.” While the relationship between Angela and Gabriel was a tightly held secret, the friendship between the three was well known. Jack’s shoulders dropped.  
  
“You know she wouldn’t – _doesn’t_ – want us to go after her without a plan.” No, she wouldn’t want them to go after her at all if it meant one of them – one of those she did her best to protect and put back together – would be hurt.  
  
“They will break her, Jack.” He whispered finally, one hand over his face as he slumped back in his seat.  
  
“Angela is strong,” Jack replied, though Gabriel wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. They both knew that she was strong – but this required a different kind of strength, a type that Gabriel wasn’t sure Angela had.  
  
“We have to find her, Jack.” Gabriel rose; there was far too little time, and there was too much to do – too much to say.  
  
God, how he _hated_ Jack at this moment.  
  
They had been at odds for the last year, but he hadn’t _hated_ the blonde man until now. Gabriel knew it was irrational – knew Jack wouldn’t risk Angela unnecessarily or without care – but it didn’t matter.  
  
“Meet back here in a few hours?” He ground out; there would be time for arguing – time for laying the blame and vengeance – once Angela was recovered. Jack nodded his understanding as Gabriel turned away. Gabriel strode away, heading for the room that had once been his office – and still was, for all intents and purposes.

* * *

“It really is too bad that the suit was in the way,” the speaker remarked, one hand running along the Valkyrie suit. They had torn it from her body, destroying some of the buckles and further damaging the wings with their rough handling, before tossing it onto a table they had dragged in – apparently for that express purpose.  
  
“A chained angel? What a perfect visual,” the man sighed. “But, I must uphold my end of the bargain since your _friends_ ,” he dragged the word out mockingly, “have decided to not to uphold theirs.”  
  
Angela had known, even before the terms had been laid out, that Jack – _Gabriel_ – would not have given in. Not even for her could Overwatch capitulate – not without setting a far too dangerous precedent.  
  
“Shall we begin, then?” He asked, as if it were really up to her.  
  
They struck her from behind this time, eliciting a cry from her; without the Valkyrie suit, Angela was vulnerable to the pain. The blows rained down, battering and bruising her. Mostly she grunted and groaned, though some left her gasping, and once or twice she let out a sharp cry.  
  
“That's enough for now.” The speaker announced finally in a bored voice. As she gasped and shook, tears streaking her cheeks, the man continued speaking. “You know my demands. For each day you do not comply, her,” Angela assumed he gestured towards her, “punishment shall only get worse.”  
  
Before Angela could get the breath to say anything, to try to yell out something to her friends that would surely see this video, it was too late.  
  
What would she say, even if she could? She couldn't tell them it was okay, that she would be _fine_ – not with the bruises peppering her skin and the blood in her mouth. But could she really beg them not to give in, knowing how bad she already hurt and, as the speaker said, that it would only get worse?  
  
Angela knew she _couldn't_ beg them to find her, to end this before it went too far. She couldn’t lay that burden on them, not when it was her stubbornness and insistence that had led her to this room. Not when this had _always_ been a possibility every time she went into the field. Not when she knew they were probably half–killing themselves as they searched and drowned in guilt and rage.  
  
No, there was nothing – _nothing_ – she could say. One would be a lie, and one would hurt them even more than they already were. 

\- - -

The next day, they removed her chains and forced Angela to her feet. Her muscles protested and rebelled, but her captors didn't particularly care about her body’s limitations. They pressed her, chest first, against the wall and chained her arms above her head. She could taste the dirt of the wall with every breath, but that was the least of her problems.  
  
It wasn’t long before she discovered her newest punishment: whipping. There was something sharp at the tip that sheared through her thin catsuit and into her back. Angela couldn’t see it, but she knew that there were trails of blood slicking down her back with every stroke.  
  
Angela swallowed some of her screams, trying to hold to the knowledge that her friends – that _Gabriel_ – would be seeing this. Still, some burst free along with the tears she tried to keep hidden.  
  
Once it was over, they pulled her down from the wall. Instead of chaining her back to the floor, they threw a hood over her head before carrying her bodily out of the room.  
She didn’t know where they were taking her – or why. Angela briefly entertained the hope that her friends were closing in, so they had to move before they were caught – but she wasn’t convinced.  
  
No, the more likely reason was that it was safer now to move her than it had been when they’d initially captured her.  
  
Hours later – this time they flew somewhere – she was chained back into the awful, familiar position. This time, the room was drywall and stained concrete; Angela didn’t look too closely at the stains.  
  
She tried to force back the despair, but it was hard. Even if her friends had been closing in on her location, she was long gone now – how would they ever find her? Angela knew they couldn’t give in to the demands, wouldn’t give up searching for her – but she didn’t know how long she could hold out. 

\- - -

On the fourth day of her capture, they whipped her again. Angela wasn’t sure if she should be grateful that they hadn’t escalated as much as they had promised or not – and then felt disgusted at the very thought.  
  
Before they began on the fifth day, the speaker approached her again. The last two days – videos – he had simply been a silent herald of her pain.  
  
“It seems you aren’t as valuable as the world has been made to believe, _doctor_.” He twisted the title into an insult. “It’s terribly disappointing – for you, most of all, I'm sure.” His voice was full of false sympathy – as if _he_ weren’t the one that was orchestrating it all. The man paused, giving her time to reply – but what was there to say? Her pride would not allow her to beg – not yet, anyway – and Angela would not engage him in conversation as if she _weren’t_ his prisoner.  
  
“Nothing to say?” He shrugged, a loose, uncaring motion that didn’t match his hard gaze. “That’s alright. You’ll speak soon enough.” With that cryptic remark, he waved at one of his men. They hadn't moved her to the wall – she was still in her uncomfortable, bordering painful, position on the ground – so Angela knew that this had to be an escalation of some sort.  
  
They pressed something to the open flesh on her back, just below Angela’s right shoulder blade. Then, her whole body was seizing; her back arched as her legs locked up, her mouth opened in a silent scream as her vision went white. What felt like an eternity later, her vision cleared and she panted, slumping heavily against the chains that held her arms up.  
  
“Again.” The speaker ordered; it was all the warning Angela got – but how do you prepare yourself for an electric shock? Her trembling body seized again, and this time a scream – sharp and shrill – managed to burst past her lips before her throat locked up as well.  
  
They repeated the cycle – blinding, screaming pain into shaking, gasping recovery – five times before the speaker was satisfied.  
  
As they filed out, despair truly overwhelmed her. Knowing there was nothing _she_ could do – nothing _anyone_ could do – to free her. In theory, Angela knew that Overwatch could capitulate, but she knew better.  
  
Her only escape would be rescue – or death.

\- - -

Angela counted the days based on their visits; once a day, as the speaker promised, they punished her for the inaction of Overwatch. Sometimes the speaker would taunt her, but she bit her tongue and bowed her head; begging would get her nothing and nowhere.  
  
It had been two weeks of absolute hell.  
  
On the fifth day, when they fed her, they had tended to her wounds. They wouldn't want her to die too quickly, after all – though by now it should be obvious that her pain wasn’t going to break Overwatch, even if it was eventually going to break _her._  
  
The seventh day had been mock–drowning; a rag was thrown over her face as her head was yanked back by her hair and held there roughly. Then, the water came down; rounds and rounds they went, agonizing and terrifying, before they’d left her there, soaked and shivering.  
  
They mixed it up the next few days; sometimes, she would be whipped _and_ drowned; other times, she was electrocuted and beaten. And still, Overwatch refused to bend to the will of her captors – _whoever_ they were.  
  
On that fourteenth day of her capture, they dragged in a table; it was placed with exceeding care before the camera. Dimly, Angela wondered what new horror they were going to inflict upon her.

* * *

It had been two weeks since Angela had been captured. They’d almost caught the bastards; they’d found the building they’d been holed up in, but by then, it had been two days too late.   
  
His analysts couldn’t pinpoint where the videos were originating, and the man in the videos was an unfamiliar enemy. The people he had demanded had been from three different groups – which narrowed it down slightly, but not enough. The Watchpoints affected two of those groups, which narrowed it down farther: so, they focused their gaze on them.   
  
It was all they had, and it was nowhere near enough.   
  
He and Jack were in the war room again; another video had been delivered. Gabriel was pacing, restless and terrified of what they were going to see this time.   
  
Gabriel could barely stand to be in the same room as Jack anymore – and when he did, he spoke in short, clipped sentences. Each day Angela was missing drove a wedge further and further between them. Every video, every wound, every scream was etched into his mind and soul – and Gabriel blamed Jack for each and every one.   
  
He was pretty sure Jack blamed himself, too.   
  
As always, they were alone for the first viewing. This was an unspoken agreement between the two; they would leave their animosity at the door for those horrific minutes that the video was playing. The emotions were too heavy, too raw, to watch the videos with anyone else, despite their growing rift.   
  
The videos were too horrible to watch with an enemy.   
  
Instead, they leaned on each other as they hadn’t since he had taken up the mantle of Blackwatch Commander. They suffered together through Angela’s torture. Jack’s grief and horror were equal to Gabriels’, his shame and guilt surpassing anything Gabriel could feel. These were laid bare, uncensored and unashamed, as they forced themselves to shoulder the weight of Angela’s pain.   
  
“You don’t have to watch this,” Jack said, as he had before every video. Gabriel shook his head; Jack was wrong. Gabriel had to watch them, had to see _exactly_ what their failure was costing the one person he’d sworn to protect over all others.   
  
With a resigned sigh, Jack turned it on.   
  
A table came into view. The camera was angled so that it looked down slightly so that they would have a perfect view of whatever they were going to do to Angela this time. On the far side of it was Angela, still chained and bloody.   
  
“We’re going to try something different today,” the speaker announced cheerfully as he entered the room. Angela tensed but didn’t look up from the ground – not even when they began to unchain her.   
  
Gabriel wondered if she had struggled before – where they couldn’t see, when they were positioning her off–camera. Had they beaten it out of her, or had she realized the futility and, therefore, didn’t waste the energy?   
  
They half–carried, half–dragged her to the table; it was only once they forced her to bend over it, her hands chained to the far side, that he realized the nature of this particular horror.   
  
“Stop it,” he whispered hoarsely; Jack was quick to oblige. They might be at each other’s throats most days, but Gabriel knew that Jack didn’t want him to hurt – even though this whole thing, the loss of Angela, _hurt_.  
  
Gabriel took several deep breaths, one hand running over his head.   
  
“Do you know what they’re about to do?” He asked, low and solemn as he stared at Angela’s face. He could see it there – a new fear – but she hadn’t yet figured out what was coming. Jack let out a heavy breath.   
  
“Yes.” The answer was so quick that Gabriel wondered if Jack watched it before him – but if Jack had, Gabriel knew the blonde would have been far more desperate in his request for Gabriel not to watch. “You don’t—”  
  
“Yes, I _do_ ,” Gabriel growled, cutting him off. “You shouldn’t—”  
  
“It’s my burden, too.” This time it was Jack’s turn to cut him off, his quiet voice resigned but firm. Gabriel didn’t want Jack to see Angela like this – but, selfishly, he didn’t want to be alone to watch Angela suffer in this way – as if Angela wasn’t sitting somewhere, _right now_ , suffering in the aftermath.   
  
He ran his hand over his head again before nodding sharply.   
  
“Start it.”   
  
It was once they started ripping and cutting away her catsuit that Angela realized what was happening – but, by then, it was far too late. Angela was bound, wrist and ankle, to the table. She thrashed and writhed then, trying to stave off what Gabriel knew was inevitable, to no avail.   
  
“Please,” she begged – and she _never_ begged, not for anything or anyone, “please, don’t do this!”   
  
The words fell on deaf ears as they continued to restrain her. They forced her to look towards the camera with one heavy hand; her eyes were squeezed tight, but Gabriel didn’t have to see them to see her despair.   
  
“No!” She screamed when he entered her, eyes flying open to stare blankly as she struggled to escape again. The man pushed her head down harder with one hand, the other holding her hips in place.   
  
“Stop,” the word was a broken sound as the man pushed into her again with a groan. “Please.” Gabriel could barely hear the word for how soft it was. “ _Please_.” The man ignored her pleas and continued thrusting.   
  
Slowly, her struggles became weaker and more feeble – and then she wasn’t struggling at all; Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was from pain or resignation. Instead, her hands were balled into tight fists and she trembled as the man continued to use and abuse her body. Around the same time, Angela had stopped begging; now, she was crying soundlessly in a way that tore at Gabriel’s heart.   
  
The minutes he spent watching that video were the longest and hardest minutes he’d ever endured – and he knew it had been infinitely worse for Angela.   
  
When her rapist finished, he was buried deep inside her. Angela sobbed then, a heartbreaking sound, as the man pulled away.   
  
“You know how to stop this,” the speaker said over Angela’s heavy, desperate breathing and pitiful cries. “Until tomorrow.” The video cut out, and for a moment, neither man could move.   
  
“No one else sees this,” Gabriel growled. It was bad enough that Jack had seen her in such a position; no one else has to see it. “I mean it, Jack – _no one_.” Numbly, Jack nodded. Before Gabriel could say – or do – something he would regret, he stormed out of the room. 

\- - -

Gabriel splashed cold water over his face with shaking hands. He was seething, absolutely _enraged_ at what he had just watched – at what had happened to Angela. She never should have been in a position to be taken; she should have been _protected_ , she should be _safe_.  
  
Jack should _never_ have allowed her to be in the field without backup – no matter how much experience she had, she _wasn’t_ a soldier and never would be. He wanted to tear into Jack, rip him apart for how he had failed Angela – but now wasn’t the time. Angela needed them, _both_ of them, no matter how angry he was at Jack; until she was recovered, his rage would simmer until he could finally make it known.  
  
What parts of Gabriel that _wasn’t_ enraged was sickened with guilt, with shame, with the terrible knowledge of what had happened to Angela. It had taken them too long; they hadn’t done enough – and she was the one paying for it.  
  
He wanted to be _out_ there, searching and tearing the world apart until they found her – but instead, he was forced to remain here, in Zürich, trying to coordinate everyone. It felt like he was doing _nothing_ – nothing except bear witness to the horrors that Angela was forced to carry on their behalf.  
  
When they found Angela – and they would, because they _had_ to, because no other outcome was acceptable – he would kill every last one of them. Even if they hadn’t touched her, they had been a part of _that,_ and he would _not_ stand for her captors – her _rapist_ – to continue breathing.  
  
But right now, he needed to find some semblance of balance. His rage was not helping Angela – this inactivity, here in her rooms that he had taken over during the search, was not helping her. His guilt, his shame, was _not_ helping Angela – but that didn’t stop him from rounding her – _their_ – bed to sit on her side of it.  
  
It had been so long that Angela’s pillow barely smelled of her anymore, but that didn’t stop Gabriel from pressing it to his face anyway. He sat there, simply breathing, as he tried to pull himself back together.  
  
He would put aside his rage, his shame, his _everything_ , because Angela deserved nothing less. She deserved to be here, in their bed and safe – and he would make it so.

* * *

“I told you that you’d speak eventually,” the speaker whispered tauntingly as they stripped her bare. They chained her limp, naked body to the floor again and left her there, shaking and _dripping_.  
  
In that moment, she hated it – hated Overwatch – hated her position that had led to this room. Hated what these men were doing to her body, hated that she was being used as a – ineffective – weapon against everyone she loved. Hated everyone – these men for hurting her and her friends, even Gabriel, for not finding her and releasing her from this hell.  
  
All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry – but she couldn’t even do that. Instead, she slumped heavily against the chains and let her head droop. Distantly, she felt the bite in her wrists and the ache in her arms, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.


	5. Broken Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Febuwhump Day 26: Recovery | Pre-Fall | Angela / Gabriel | TW: Torture, Rape**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This directly follows the events of 'An Angel's Ransom'.

_My heart’s an endless winter filled with rage  
I’m looking forward to forgetting yesterday  
\- Cold [Five Finger Death Punch]_

* * *

Angela was nearly certain it had been a week since that horrible day that they had ‘tried something different.’ She had stopped tracking the days, stopped counting the times they hurt her, tried to forget _how_ they were hurting her.  
  
If only she could forget how they were hurting her.  
  
That second day - the second time they had used the table, had used _her_ \- she had fought, struggled, _anything_ to escape. It had been laughably - they had _actually_ laughed - easy for them to chain her down. Angela would have bruises, and some of her half-healed lashes had burst open, but it hadn’t stopped them for even a moment.  
  
Instead, it had just made everything far more painful. The speaker had expressed his disappointment - as if she had spilled juice on his favorite shirt rather than fight to escape their torture - that they hadn’t captured any of it on video.  
  
The next time, they had whipped her bloody and raw - and she had hoped, _prayed_ , that they would stop there, that it had been enough. Of course, they hadn’t; instead, they had pressed her bloody and torn back to the table before hurting her further.  
  
It was then that Angela had stopped counting the days, had started actively seeking her death.  
  
She tried to force them to hurt her more, to push _too_ far and break something fragile within her that couldn’t be put back together. When the others - the ones who _didn’t_ expressly hurt her, but were the ones that cleaned her wounds and fed her - came to her, she had tried to avoid eating. Starvation was a slow killer, she knew, but at least it _would_ kill her - _free_ her - eventually.  
  
Not that they had allowed her even _that_ choice.  
  
Overwatch - Jack, _Gabriel_ \- hadn’t capitulated, hadn’t even given her captors an _inch_. Not one person released, not one agent removed from the required bases, _nothing_. The speaker had taken great pleasure in informing her of that as they prepared for the next round of pain and horror. Angela had known they wouldn’t, had known they _couldn’t_ , and yet now, almost a month later - or was it longer? - she wished they would compromise just _once_.  
  
Surely she had done enough - _given_ enough - for that?  
  
Instead, her captors increased the pressure on her friends - the friends that had left her here, had _watched_ what had been done to her and had _abandoned_ her anyway - by slowly destroying her entire being. 

\- - - 

Angela barely slept anymore; her nightmares, always present even before her chains, had somehow begun eclipsing her real-life torture. Instead, too tired to remain alert and too terrified to sleep, she slumped against her chains in a half-conscious state.  
  
The doorknob rattled, drawing her from her haze and into wide-eyed terror. They had already come for her today, had already hurt her - hadn’t they? It had to be the other ones, the ones that kept her alive only to be broken further. It _had_ to be.  
  
The door opened and she inhaled sharply, unsure if she should be relieved or terrified.  
  
Genji, the man she had saved from certain death not even a year ago - or had it been? - stood framed within the doorway. She blinked, unsure if she was hallucinating, but he was still there.  
  
It didn’t make sense. If she were hallucinating, surely she would have imagined someone more appropriate - Gabriel or Jack, or even McCree - but Genji? But for him to be real made just as little sense. He hated her, hated what she had done to save him, and had made that no secret.  
  
That he would appear before her now, when she was at her most vulnerable, was no comfort at all.  
  
He said something, but she couldn’t hear it over her rapid breathing and pounding heartbeat. After a long moment - was she supposed to respond? - Genji shut the door, _locked it_ , and quickly closed the distance between them to crouch before her.  
  
Trembling, Angela shrank back as far as her chains allowed, which wasn’t far at all, as he reached out.  
  
“Don’t—” Her eyes squeezed shut as she cringed away, expecting the worst because that’s what this room was. Because Genji would never save her, not after what she had done to him. Surely he was only here to add to her misery.  
  
“I am not here to harm you, Dr. Ziegler.” His voice was harsh, making it hard to believe the words. Not when he had locked the door; not when she was at his mercy, naked and chained and bleeding.  
  
After a long silence, he sighed, and then she flinched as his cold, metal hand touched her left wrist. He drew back for just a moment, and then he was fiddling with the manacle again. It took far longer than she had become accustomed to, but he eventually opened it. Before her arm could fall lifelessly to her side, his hand - this one warm and made of flesh - was there again to lower it carefully to her lap.  
  
Then she was hanging by her right arm in a way that should hurt - _did_ hurt, but she had been through worse, so what did it matter? Instead, she peered up at him cautiously, confusion and despair warring with the beginnings of hope.  
  
As he was working on her right wrist, a piercing wail broke the silence between them. Angela jumped, eyes wide as she searched for the source. Genji cursed, her movements having knocked his hands away and forced him to start again.  
  
Before he could get very far, the doorknob began twisting and rattling. Instantly, Genji was on his feet. As she hung there, he drew the short sword at his waist and put himself between her and the door. The speaker burst through, a gun in hand, but drew up short when his eyes landed on Genji.  
  
“Who the hell are you?” Angela shook, ducking her head as she looked away from the men before her. She’d only heard that tone a handful of times - it _never_ meant anything good for her. Genji remained silent, with nothing but the alarms to provide an answer.  
  
“I suppose it doesn’t really matter, does it?” The speaker said acerbically, and then there was a gunshot - loud and echoing - that had her head whipping up so fast that she swung slightly.  
  
Genji was still between the two of them, but he was now closer to the speaker than before. With quick, precise movements that Angela could barely follow, Genji disarmed the speaker and had him unconscious on the ground.  
  
All she could do was stare at the growing red stain on the speaker’s shoulder.  
  
Angela hadn’t realized Genji had returned to her side until his hand touched her wrist again - and she flinched so hard that she would have completely fallen over if not for the manacle. Her eyes tore away from the speaker to find Genji, who had pulled back and had his hands held before him carefully.  
  
“I did not mean to scare you, doctor.” Genji’s hands turned, the gesture suddenly changing from one of surrender to one of supplication. “Will you let me remove the chains?” Angela’s eyes darted back towards the speaker - how was _he_ the one with a bullet wound? - before returning to Genji. Hesitantly, she nodded.  
  
Quickly, Genji began working at the cuff; she couldn’t help but allow herself to stare at the speaker again. After everything he had done to her, she had thought she would feel some sort of relief to see him hurt - or killed, though Angela could tell he was still alive at the moment.  
  
She just felt empty.  
  
“Hold on,” Genji murmured, drawing her attention only briefly. Then, he was catching her weight as she collapsed on herself. Angela couldn’t help the broken whimper or her flinching at his touch. As soon as she was steady, he released his hold on her. Angela watched him, trembling, as he moved towards the door once more.  
  
When had the door closed?  
  
It didn’t matter because he was yanking the door open, and for a moment, Angela was terrified that he was going to just leave her here. For all that she _knew_ he hated her, he had at least removed some of her chains - had, somehow, shot the speaker without a gun. Before she could squeak out something desperate, a second man shoved past Genji and into the room.  
  
As he drew closer, Angela couldn’t settle on one emotion. Hope: that she was finally going to escape this room - and not through death? Anger: that they had taken so long, that so much had been taken _from_ her? Shame: that, _surely_ , Gabriel knew - had seen - what had happened to her.  
  
“God, Angela,” Gabriel exhaled, dropping to one knee before her.  
  
“G-Gabe—?” Angela choked out, one hand rising of its own volition. Before she could pull back, Gabriel caught it with his own - warm and real. She gasped, shuddering with tension and emotion, and clung to his hand like a lifeline.  
  
“It’s me, _cariño_ ,” he murmured, voice far kinder than this room deserved. “We’re getting you out.” With his free hand, Gabriel pulled out some cloth - seemingly from thin air, but he had to have a pack that she hadn’t noticed - to drape carefully over her shoulders, the movement made awkward as he could only use one hand.  
  
“I know, I’m sorry,” Gabriel murmured as she flinched. After a moment, her free hand rose to clutch the cloth closed around her chest, despite how it dragged at the wounds on her back.  
  
Cold fingers brushed her ankle, causing her to jump with a terrified noise.  
  
“It’s just Genji, Angela,” Gabriel soothed, his thumb rubbing against the back of her hand. “You’re safe now.” Her wide-eyes found Genji, who had come to crouch behind her to unlock the chains there. The ninja had stopped again, hands hovering as he waited her out.  
  
“Sorry,” she whispered, ducking her head as her fingers tugged the cloth even tighter around herself. Angela should have known it was him - his hand, if nothing else, should have given him away - but she couldn’t help herself.  
  
“Sor— Angela, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” Gabriel insisted, incredulous. “ _I’m_ the one who should be sorry.” Angela twitched at the reminder that she had been _abandoned_ here for so long. “I _am_ sorry, Angela - God, there aren’t words for how sorry I am.” He sighed, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, she knew he was running one hand over his head. “Not that it means a damn bit of good.”  
  
Silence descended, broken only by her shallow breaths and the soft clank of the metal chains. Gabriel clearly didn’t know what to say - or do, based on how he was hovering around her. Angela was so raw - in more ways than one - that she didn’t trust herself to say anything, so she just kept her eyes focused on her lap as she clutched at his hand and the cloth around her.  
  
“Done.” The chains were gone from her ankles. Despite their absence, Angela made no move to change her position, to get any kind of respite from the kneeling position she had spent so much time in, or to draw closer to Gabriel.  
  
“Secure the door,” Gabriel ordered the ninja. Angela watched Genji move away from the corner of her eyes; shuriken were in one hand as he slipped into the hallway. “Angela,” Gabriel hesitated before sighing. “I have to pick you up now, _cariño_.” Before she could protest, Gabriel scooped her off the ground and rose.  
  
Angela whimpered and shuddered as his arms brushed against her broken and battered skin, her whole body shaking in his hold. He remained still, murmuring soft words that she didn’t really hear - but there was no time for him to delay for longer than a moment or two. Gabriel was still murmuring as they followed after Genji.  
  
When they drew closer to the speaker - Angela had forgotten he was in the room with them - Gabriel slowed. Angela pressed against his chest, trying to put distance between herself and her tormentor, as she stared at the bloody man.  
  
“McCree,” Gabriel growled as they stepped into the hall; Angela was unsurprised to see the cowboy guarding the door, considering the other two that were here. They were a team, after all. “Get in there and grab that bastard, will you?”  
  
Angela tensed - she _knew_ , from horrible experience, precisely what they were going to do to that man - but remained silent. It wasn’t like she couldn’t say he deserved it; not even _she_ was that kindhearted.  
  
Instead, she pressed her cheek against Gabriel’s body armor and let him carry her out of hell.

\- - -

“—ob, Jack - _one_ job,” an angry voice growled, somewhere near her.  
  
“You’re acting like I _meant_ for this to happen,” another voice snapped back.  
  
Before she could realize it was just Jack and Gabriel, arguing like they so often did since Ana’s death, she was pressed against the back of the bed. Her feet dug into the mattress, and her legs shook as she tried to make herself as small as possible.  
  
Wide-eyed, she stared at Jack and Gabriel - who were staring right back, their argument completely derailed now that she was awake.  
  
“I—” Angela licked her lips nervously, her eyes darting between the two men. She had half-convinced herself that her rescue had been a dream and that, when she finally awoke, she’d still be in chains.  
  
Angela still didn’t entirely believe that she wouldn’t.  
  
“You’re home, Angela,” Jack told her gently, when it was obvious that she didn’t _actually_ have anything to say. Angela let her legs relax some - just enough to stop the shaking - and moved to wrap her arms around herself. The movement was stymied by the IV in her arm; Angela frowned and forced herself _not_ to rip it out.  
  
She was cognizant enough to realize that she was in no position to be making medical decisions for herself.  
  
Now that she wasn’t blindly trying to escape, she realized that her back - her whole body - wasn’t in agony. Nothing hurt - at least, nothing physical. Her heartbeat was announced by an EKG machine, revealing her stress to the two men.  
  
“You’re safe,” he continued, clearly trying to fill the silence. Angela tensed, her eyes dropping to stare at her knees. She wasn't sure whether to scream or cry, to be angry or relieved, so she remained silent.  
  
“Ang—” Jack started, filling the silence _again_.  
  
“Jack.” Gabriel’s voice cut off whatever the blonde man was going to say to Angela’s relief. “Could you give us some space?” There was no trace of the antagonism that was usually present when he spoke to Jack; instead, Gabriel just sounded tired. “Please?”  
  
Angela hunched her shoulders, curling into herself some as she felt Jack’s eyes on her. After another tense silence - shorter this time - Jack sighed.  
  
“Alright. If you need anything, call me.” Angela was sure he was speaking to her, and she bit back her response. She had needed him weeks ago; now, he was far too late. After a pause - Jack clearly had expected some sort of answer - he quietly left the hospital room, the door closing softly behind him.  
  
Angela looked up at the sound, staring hard at the door. It was just a door, one she had probably seen a thousand times - and yet, she found herself struggling for breath. Her heart began to pound, her fingers curling in the sheets that covered her.  
  
“Angela?” Gabriel’s voice pulled her attention to the right, away from the dreadful door. “How can I help?” He was leaning forward, hands on his knees as he watched her. Her body hummed with tension as her eyes darted back to the door, unable to keep her eyes away for long.  
  
“The door?” His voice offered no judgment. She found herself nodding, a quick, jerky motion. “Alright.” Gabriel rose and crossed the small room to open the door. As soon as she could see the hallway, her shoulders relaxed. Once it was fully opened and he was moving back inside, she felt like she could breathe again.  
  
“Thank you,” Angela whispered as he sat in the chair closest to her bed.  
  
“You don’t have to thank me, Angela,” he replied, voice low. “I haven’t done anything to deserve it.” The derision in his voice was almost enough to pull her from her own malaise, to distract her from her own roiling emotions - but not quite. Because Angela couldn’t find it in herself to disagree with him, she remained silent as she turned her gaze back to the open door.  
  
Silence descended once more.  
  
“Do you want me to leave?” Gabriel asked some time later, when her heartbeat slowed and her muscles had loosened. Eyes wide, her eyes flew towards him; he was carefully not looking at her, but she could see the tension in his jaw and fisted hands.  
  
“No,” the word spilled out quickly, desperately. Even though she had been silent, incapable of finding words, Angela didn’t want to be by herself. She had spent far too many hours - long, painful hours - alone. “Please,” Angela continued, as if he had already begun walking out of the door, “don’t leave me.”  
  
“Alright,” the tension was gone as he turned his gaze on her once more. “I won’t go anywhere, Angela,” Gabriel assured her. Angela knew that wasn’t, strictly, true - he was the Commander of Blackwatch, after all. He would have to leave her eventually; his duty would force him to, just as it had forced them to leave her in that room.  
  
But for the moment, it was enough.


	6. To Love and To Cherish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Inspired by[blusnowflakes](https://blusnowflakes.tumblr.com/post/644110449093312512/i-dont-have-a-speech-prepared-and-im-not-going) on tumblr. Prompt: “i dont have a speech prepared and i’m not going down on one knee”  
>  Pre-Fall | Angela / Gabriel**

_All of the things that I want to say  
Just aren’t coming out right  
I’m tripping on words  
You got my head spinning  
\- You and Me [Lifehouse]_  
  


* * *

“We’ll never have what they have, you know.” Angela glanced up at Gabriel. Her fingers, which had been idly tracing the scars on his chest, stilled. He wasn’t looking at her; instead, his hands were folded behind his head while he stared up at the ceiling as if it held the answers to the universe.  
  
“What who has?” She asked, once it was obvious he wasn’t planning to elaborate - as if, without any context, she could contribute to the conversation.  
  
“Gérard and Amélie,” he sighed. Understanding flooded Angela. While she wasn’t exactly certain where the conversation was _going_ , she knew where it stemmed from. After all, the wedding had just been earlier today; the dress she’d worn to it was in a heap on the floor in the other room, forgotten after Gabriel had stripped her some time ago.  
  
“I know that,” Angela agreed, moving so that she was sitting up in the bed with her back pressed to the headboard. Absently, she reached one hand behind her to shift a pillow so that she was more comfortable as she looked down at his face.  
  
“And that doesn’t bother you?” He turned to look up at her; his eyes were stormy with emotion and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking - not exactly unusual, but frustrating all the same.  
  
“No?” Unsure of how he wanted her to respond, her definitive answer had become a question. Was it _supposed_ to bother her? She’d never considered it - not seriously, anyway - before. Her life, even before Overwatch, hadn’t exactly been conducive to such things.  
  
“It doesn’t?” His voice took on a tone of disbelief as he shifted, propping himself up on one side. “It doesn’t bother you that I’ll never get down on one knee and propose? That you won’t wear a wedding ring or take my name?” Angela pulled her knees up to her bare chest, suddenly self-conscious and uncomfortable.  
  
“I—” Her shoulders hunched and she tilted her head, just enough that her hair fell in a curtain between them, shielding her face from his view in an attempt to hide at least _some_ of her discomfort and uncertainty. She tried her best not to lie to him, so she _couldn’t_ tell him that it bothered her. It _did_ bother her that it _didn’t_ bother her - that it bothered _him_ \- which only added to her discomfort.  
  
Was it weird that she had never considered marriage, not even after all this time with Gabriel?  
  
“I’m sorry?” She whispered instead, because what else could she do? Angela couldn’t change how she felt: marriage just _wasn’t_ that important to her. That wasn’t to say _Gabriel_ wasn’t important to her - no, there wasn’t much she _wouldn’t_ do for him; a ring wouldn’t change that.  
  
She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them close as she glanced away from the man in her bed.  
  
“Dammit,” Gabriel sighed. Angela tensed as the bed shifted with his movements, but she didn’t look at him to determine what he was doing. “Come here.” He pulled her rigid body into an awkward embrace that she refused to relax into.  
  
“ _Mi_ _corazon_ , I’m sorry,” he murmured, shifting so that his chin was resting on her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.” He sighed. “I’m saying it all wrong.”  
  
“What are you trying to say, then?” Angela whispered. She was mollified that he took the time to think about his words, to properly express _whatever_ this was instead of jumping down her throat again.  
  
“I’m trying to say that you deserve better than what I can offer you,” he confessed eventually. His arms tightened, holding her in place so that she couldn’t turn to look at him. “You deserve someone that can give you flowers or take you out to dinner - not this sneaking around that we do.” Angela scoffed.  
  
“What makes you think I _want_ that?” Honestly. While the sentiment was sweet, it was like he had forgotten _who_ he was speaking to. “Since when do I even _want_ to eat dinner?” Considering that time of day was when her best work was accomplished, a dinner date would be close to a nightmare.  
  
“You’re missing the point.” He retorted. “You deserve to be with someone you can be _seen_ with. You don’t deserve _this_ ,” Gabriel’s hand lifted, waving in an absent gesture that she assumed was meant to encompass their relationship.  
  
“Do you—” Angela hesitated, taking a breath before trying again. “Do you… not want this? To be with me?” She was so tense her body was trembling, her chest heavy as she tried to remember how to breathe; this was _not_ how she had pictured this evening going.  
  
“ _What_?” Gabriel demanded after a moment of stunned silence. “Angela, that’s not what I’m saying at all!” And just like that, her tension melted away and she could breathe again; she could work with this - whatever _this_ was. This time, when she pulled against his hands, he let her turn so that they could both look at each other.  
  
“Then why are you trying to convince me to leave?” The words were shaky with the remnants of her stress, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.  
  
“Because it’s _true_ \- you _do_ deserve better than this, Angela.” His fingers reached out to stroke her cheek gently, and she smiled.  
  
“It doesn’t matter what I ‘deserve’,” Angela told him gently. “Because I don’t want that; I want _you_.” His eyes lit up as he leaned down to kiss her.

\- - - 

“Hey, Gabriel?” Angela set her pen aside as she glanced towards her communicator. Gabriel had returned to Rome the day after Gérard’s wedding over a week ago; while they hadn’t seen each other since, they often spoke on their communicators - either verbally or through text. Usually it was late in the evening, like it was now.  
  
“Yeah? What’s up?” Angela shifted uncomfortably, grateful that he couldn’t see her. She’d been thinking about this ever since his outburst in their bed; like a sore tooth, she couldn’t stop poking at it.  
  
Angela had never considered marriage - not until he had brought it up. They’d never discussed such things before then and, considering their respective positions, Angela had assumed they never would. It was just something that _was_ ; they could be together, but the rest of the world couldn’t know.  
  
It was too dangerous.  
  
But, after that night, she had allowed herself to wonder what it would be like. To wonder how it would feel to be openly together, to be seen on Gabriel’s arm. To wonder what it would be like to arrive together at events instead of separately and, for all appearances, alone.  
  
Angela had allowed herself, for only a moment, to be jealous of Amélie and Gérard’s happiness. Had let herself wish that she would wear a beautiful gown and walk down the aisle. Had let herself _want_ to be the kind of woman who would do those things - or that she was with the kind of man that _could_ do those things.  
  
Then, the moment had passed.  
  
It was a nice daydream - an idea that might have become reality if they held different positions - but that was all it was: a dream, and not even one she wanted, not _really_ , even after a week of consideration.  
  
“I was wondering…” Angela paused, mustering up her courage. She’d been trying to build up the nerve to bring up this topic for the last few days. Before she could change her mind, she forced the words out in a rush. “I was wondering if you wanted to get married?” Gabriel made a choked sound of surprise, and she could imagine what his face looked like: wide eyed, mouth slightly open, staring at the communicator since she wasn’t there for him to gape at instead.  
  
Now that it was out, her doubts surged again. Would he read too much into it? That he needed to worry about her wanting a ring or a dress? Or, worse, would he say no? It wasn’t that she _wanted_ to get married - it didn’t matter either way to her, because she would love him whether they were married or not - but it would still _hurt_ if he said no.  
  
“Ang— what?” He stammered, shocked. “You _know_ we can’t.” And she _did_ know that - if they couldn’t even _date_ openly they could never marry. There could be no paperwork, could be no rings or other tangible proof of their relationship. The texts and the calls were pushing it as it were; anyone that managed to break the security - which, in fairness, was quite strong – could potentially find their conversations - or, worse, the footage of him entering her rooms in Zürich - and piece everything together.  
  
“Yes,” Angela agreed, forcing herself to speak instead of allowing herself to lose her nerve and change the topic - or just disconnect the call. “I know we _can’t_ , but — well, I just—” She sighed, exasperated with herself. “If we _could_ , would you _want_ to?”  
  
“Of course I want to marry you,” Gabriel insisted indignantly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “If I didn’t have so many enemies - if it weren’t too dangerous - I would marry you in a heartbeat.” It made her smile despite herself. After a moment, Gabriel broke the silence with the question she expected.  
  
“Would _you_ marry _me_?” He asked, intense in a way that made her heart pound.  
  
“If you asked me, I would say yes,” Angela told him - because, if that were what he wanted, she _would_ marry him. In a different life, Angela knew that she would happily wear his ring, because she loved him.  
  
“Well, you don’t have to sound so excited about it,” Gabriel said dryly, causing her to laugh.  
  
“I don’t need a ring to prove I love you,” Angela assured him. “But I would wear one, if it was what you wanted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? It's _not_ something cruel or horrible? I don't know either, man. I'm just going wherever my brain takes me.
> 
> I figured out how linking works here [because I'm slow on the uptake guys]. Find my entire list of works [here](https://thebrighteye.tumblr.com/works) and my prompt lists [here](https://promptsforbrighteye.tumblr.com/). If you see one you like, hit me up and I'll see what I can make happen.


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